


Banishing Snakes

by Libbyfay



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Actually pretty pathetic confessions, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Beltane, Best Friends, Beyond Good vs. Evil, Canon Compliant, Debauchery, Drinking, Drunken Confessions, Earth Worship, Fluff and Humor, History by Google, Love letter to Ireland, M/M, Paganism, Saint Patrick is an Ass, Sin-Free Debauchery, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 14:14:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20967911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Libbyfay/pseuds/Libbyfay
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley meet in Ireland in the 5th century and enjoy themselves a little too much.  For a short time, Aziraphale lets go of the idea of sin and Crowley gets really into faeries.OR: How Saint Patrick banished all the snakes from Ireland, just to get rid of one snake in particular.OR: Ever wondered how the Irish managed to maintain so much of their culture under the tide of Catholicism?





	Banishing Snakes

**Southwest Ireland – 432 A.D.**

After the rain, there was mist that hid everything in a glowing grey light that reminded him of heaven. Then, the mist rolled back to reveal a patchwork of green; colors that were made vivid under charcoal grey clouds. Late in the afternoon, the clouds fell into tatters, and through every rip, light streamed down. 

The changing weather framed the landscape in a different kind of beauty from moment to moment. Monochrome gave way to rainbows; downpours gave way to orange sunsets. Hundreds of shades of green could be struck by a heavenly beam of light and distilled into just one color that God suddenly deemed more important than the rest. 

Aziraphale loved it. 

This place, like nowhere else, forced one to stay present, appreciating the changing artistry of earth and sky. 

This wasn’t his first time on the island. On one of his early visits, he had helped the people with their great construction project on the Boyne. He’d miracled up a huge number of perfect white stones for the outside of the tomb, and he’d given them some tips on astronomical alignment. But it had been almost a thousand years since Aziraphale had traveled to these shores, and he was reacquainting himself with the landscape. 

He had been back in Ireland for a couple of weeks now, wandering over hills and through valleys. It was as beautiful as ever. There seemed to be more standing stones than he remembered, and some were carved with markings that Aziraphale was pleased to identify as writing. That was new. 

He also enjoyed people-watching, when the opportunity arose. He kept his distance, just observing and appreciating the local humans’ culture. He was actually quite enamored with what passed for religion here-abouts. Not that he’d ever say as much in any of his reports, but in Aziraphale’s mind, these people had it just about right. 

The Irish loved the earth, stars, trees and rocks and wove these loves together with poetry, stories and rituals. Of course, they were also completely superstitious and pantheistic, but you couldn’t expect everything all at once.

For two days, he had been particularly interested in three humans who traveled together from village to village. They wore white, just as he did, and they were, at this moment, performing a lovely ritual under a grove of oak trees. Aziraphale sat on a hill, some distance away, watching and listening with angelically heightened senses, so as not to disturb the proceedings. They were addressing the old trees, honoring their roots, asking for their wisdom. The woman was carving slant-wise runes into their walking sticks, while the two men repeated a melodic chant over and over. Nature seemed to have heard them, because the sky changed again, and a long beam of afternoon sunlight poured through the clouds throwing a spotlight on the scene.

“Wow.” Said an appreciative voice at Aziraphale’s shoulder.

Aziraphale squeaked in surprise, then scowled to regain his dignity. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Enjoying the light show,” Crowley answered. “Is it just me, or does God do more Godly-lighting on this island than any other place?” 

Aziraphale’s mind was spinning at the demon’s unexpected presence. “How did you know I was here?”

“Didn’t. Spotted you from above, though.” Crowley mused, “What’s She trying to say, I wonder?”

Aziraphale, didn’t appreciate the interruption, or the fact that he was apparently being followed. “I wouldn’t presume to speculate,” he said primly, without looking up. 

“Well, where’s the fun in that?” Crowley said with a pout.

“Maybe God likes the druids.” He said, rising instantly to the bait. “Maybe She approves of their little chant.” Aziraphale might start out dead set against engaging with the demon, but at the slightest prodding, he’d find himself bantering right back.

“Nah, that can’t be it…” Crowley clicked his tongue. “Heathens, you see.” 

Aziraphale disliked the dark spectacles Crowley had taken to wearing. It had been several hundred years now, and the demon was never without them. Somehow, it gave Crowley a decided advantage when bantering.

“Well, so are most of the people at this point.” Aziraphale pointed out, testilly. His gaze strayed back to the ritual below. “And these are really quite nice. Their philosophy, I mean.”

“Awww, Aziraphale, you like them!” Crowley smiled with condescension. “You’ve found your people! How sweet. I always knew deep down, you were a hedonistic little earth-worshiper!”

The angel sputtered angrily. “Don’t test me, demon. I could… I could… smite you!”

“Yeah, but you won’t.” Crowley took a seat on the mossy rock and made himself comfortable at Aziraphale’s side.

They sat in silence for a while as the clouds darkened again, and the beam of light moved on.

“So, are you here spreading the Word, angel?”

“No, that’s not _my _assignment.” Aziraphale answered vaguely. “I’ve been here a couple of times, and I love the landscape. Also…” He hesitated, then confessed, “I do enjoy watching the people, the way they worship.”

“This is my first time in Ireland, but I’m getting a distinctly pagan vibe. I figured you were here to remedy that.”

“It’s not a sin to worship nature, Crowley!” But, even as he said it, Aziraphale was aware he might not be able to back that up, theologically speaking.

“After all the fuss you made over the golden calf?” the demon exclaimed. “I thought you’d _never_ forgive me!”

“I’d _told_ you that Moses and I were coming right back!” The angel was obviously still snippy over it. “Plus,” he straightened himself up, “the Israelites should have known better.”

“What? And these poor sods are too ignorant?” Crowley had to admit that, at this point, brutally niggling the angel had become something of a compulsion. He took note of the defensiveness in Aziraphale’s posture, his cute little nose inclined in the air. “You’re lucky that condescension looks good on you, angel.”

“That’s not what I mean!” Aziraphale sounded a little embarrassed. “It’s only because the Word hasn’t reached them out here, so it’s not like they’re disobeying. They can’t be blaspheming if they’ve never even had the opportunity to know what that means.”

“Oh good. So, you _can _get acquitted by pleading ignorance? I didn’t know that was how it worked!”

Aziraphale buried his fingers in the damp moss, trying unconsciously to ground himself. “These Irish are doing quite well figuring things out for themselves, even without the Word. Look, they already know God is a woman… well at least one of their gods is… and they worship her works. Wells and rocks and trees and the such like. Those druids down there, they’re worshiping trees. And you know how much God _meant _trees!”

Crowley nodded. In fact, trees were the one thing he and God still agreed upon. “So, they don’t know any better, and they’re close enough, in your opinion, that what they’re doing doesn’t count as sin? What about the rest of their little pagan culture? Not sin either?”

“No.” Aziraphale answered with less conviction.

Crowley couldn’t resist that familiar need to unearth hypocrisy wherever he noticed it. “So… Fornication? Animal sacrifice? I feel I should point out that these lot really like cows too… calves-”

“Crowley, stop it. You’re muddying the waters, again!”

“Good job rationalizing it to yourself.” He complimented, smugly.

Aziraphale bit his lip. He didn’t like the sound of that. Not far to the west of them, the landscape started to go fuzzy as a grey rain began to fall, smudging the green canvas. 

Was he over-rationalizing? He hadn’t been so confused until Crowley showed up. Maybe it was the demonic influence, corrupting his thoughts. But it wasn’t as if the demon was trying to tempt him into doing anything in particular. He wasn’t even making an argument for heathenism. Crowley was just pointing out that Aziraphale’s thoughts sounded inconsistent with his usual party-line. Could he have been going astray without even realizing it?

“Aziraphale, sometimes…” Crowley shook his head, exasperated. 

Just then, a couple of drops of rain fell on the two of them. It wasn’t enough to get them really wet, just enough to remind Crowley… of a debt. With an effort, the demon suddenly changed tacks and eased up. “Don’t get me wrong. I like where you’re going with this. You’re always so clever, when you put your mind to it.” He cast a sidelong glance at Aziraphale. The angel’s glowing countenance had darkened, and he was looking down at the humans with something like regret. 

Crowley sighed. Well, he’d successfully made the angel doubt himself. That, of course, had been his object at the outset. Unfortunately, disabusing Aziraphale of his hypocrisy never ended up being quite as much fun as he expected it to be. He realized, belatedly and for the millionth time, that he actually preferred Aziraphale’s sanctimonious mode, even if his arguments _were_ full of holes. Anything was better than when his angel was sad. 

Crowley reflected that sometimes he was his own worst enemy; worse, in fact, than his mortal enemy ever could be. 

“Hey, angel, I wouldn’t worry about it. Between the two of us, you’re the one with the heavenly perspective, here. If you say it aint sin, who am I to question the hell out of you? You know me… In fact, I should probably watch myself, or one of these days I’m going to get myself in trouble questioning everything! Am I right?” He elbowed Aziraphale lightly to shake him out of his worry. “I’m actually delighted I came over and ran into you. I didn’t realize this was a sin-free zone! I can’t wait!” 

Crowley stood up and dusted the bits of moss off his breeches. 

“Where are you going?” Aziraphale asked, still hoping to figure out why Crowley was there in the first place. 

“Why, to meet the locals!” He pointed down in the other direction, toward a cluster of huts and stone buildings at the base of the hill. “You coming?”

“No, I’d planned to stay and watch. They’re still doing this ritual, until the sun goes down.” 

Aziraphale was probably planning on disappearing again after that. “Ok, I’ll leave you to it. You enjoy yourself.” Crowley beamed one of his famously disarming grins, in the hopes that he could tempt Aziraphale into sticking around. “And I’ll see you down there, later on. K? I’ll buy you a sinless drink!” 

He winked, turned and made his way casually down the hill. Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s eyes on his back, so he swaggered, perhaps, even more than usual.

* * *

The village appeared deserted, as Aziraphale trudged past the first of the houses. Night had fallen, many hours before, and the weather had steadily become less and less romantic. It was now pissing down in earnest. 

Aziraphale had decided to try his chances among the humans. Plagued as he was by philosophical doubts, he hoped that spending some time with the heathens might clarify things. Best just to step into the thick of it and see for himself whether these humans were the types to be worshiping God’s works or just “worshiping the golden calf”. 

And if Crowley still happened to be around… he’d… well, he’d have a better argument for himself this time… and perhaps he’d also have that drink.

Dressed, as he always was, in white, it shouldn’t be hard to impersonate a druid and beg a dry place to spend the night, but the little homes were quite dark. Through the sound of the storm, he thought he could hear music, and he followed the sound. In the center of the village (if one could even call it that), Aziraphale came upon a round stone building, bigger than the others. It was too large for a single family; some kind of communal gathering place, perhaps. Smoke was coming out of a hole in the center of the low thatched roof. Music and voices were pouring out, welcoming, into the night. Aziraphale knocked on the heavy wooden door, but the sound wasn’t likely to be heard over the ruckus inside. Vaguely worried that he was intruding, he pushed the door open and peeked inside.

There were, maybe, a score of people gathered together at rough hewn tables. The music was coming from a knot of humans playing drums, flutes and at least one good-sized harp. Food and drink were being served. Aziraphale snuck another step closer, drawn into the room by the delicious smell of roast meat.

Crowley had positioned himself on a bench with a good view of the door, and he saw Aziraphale immediately. “Hey!” Crowley shouted loudly, over the other voices. Aziraphale shrunk back, not wanting to be the center of attention but without much hope of avoiding that now. “Here he is! What’d I tell you? I knew he’d be along, shortly!” The humans laughed, and a man and a little girl jumped up to meet Aziraphale at the door. He found himself being led toward the table, the door closed firmly behind him. A cacophony of friendly voices began to fuss over him.

“Your friend is soaking, head to toe!” 

“Get him a blanket!”

“Here. Not that one! Mine’s softer.” Someone draped a heavy cloak over the angel’s shoulders.

“What was he doing out there in the weather?”

“What he needs is a drink.”

“Sit him over here, next to our guest.”

“You two make a strange pair!”

It was nearly impossible to make sense of it all, but Crowley’s voice cut through the confusion. “Here! Sit him here! Does this mug belong to anybody? Well, too bad, it’s his now!” This was met with more laughter from everyone. Crowley pushed a cup into Aziraphale’s hands, saying in a lower voice, “Glad you could make it. Here’s that sinless drink, as promised.”

“What’s going on?” Aziraphale asked, somewhat dazed.

“They’re celebrating.”

“But why?”

“For us! We’re guests, and I gather they take hospitality very seriously around here. Although, to tell the truth, these people didn’t seem to need much of an excuse to celebrate.”

The old man sitting on Crowley’s left heard him and interjected, “You’ve got the right of it! Finola just wanted a chance to show off her cooking for the whole townland.”

“And fine cooking it is!” Crowley agreed loudly, so Finola might hear him. “And it’s a good thing you put a second lamb on the fire, because, like I said, my friend here has a heroic appetite!”

Aziraphale looked around the table full of humans. There were dirty children, drunken adults, some were eating voraciously with greasy fingers, and all of them smiling warmly at him. The last time he’d sat at a table with others, it had been in a board room in Heaven. Everything had been much cleaner than this, he supposed, but every face had regarded him with thinly veiled contempt. The angel felt more welcome than he had in an age. 

“Thank you all,” he managed.

“He’s a fae of few words, he is.” Crowley explained.

Someone laid a plate of hot food in front of him. Then, the humans went back to talking amongst themselves, thoughtfully giving the two newcomers some space.

Crowley lifted his glasses a fraction and peered at Aziraphale. He started with his most burning question. “You said you’ve been to this island before?” Aziraphale nodded. “Then, why on earth didn’t you tell a demon? I could have been hanging out here this whole time! To hell with Rome. I mean literally, to hell with most of ‘em! This is the place to be!”

“Last time I was here, I’d been helping druids and chieftains with their sacred constructions, mostly. I’m partial to their religion, but this part.. is new to me. I wasn’t… I hadn’t really spent time with the villagers before now.” Aziraphale looked around the room. “It is rather nice,” he agreed. 

“Nice? It’s fucking brilliant is what it is!” Crowley exclaimed. “And I shouldn’t have given you such a hard time, before. For the record, you were right.”

“I was?”

“These people are living the good life, from any perspective! They aren’t scared of sinning. They aren’t scared of _me_! They’ve got their priorities straight: good food, good music, good company.” He leaned companionably into the angel’s shoulder, and their temples tapped together with a bit too much force. 

Aziraphale felt his earlier doubts begin to melt away, replaced by a lightness in his chest. “You know, I’ve always had a good feeling about this place. What did I tell you, Crowley? No sin?”

“No sin. No good-versus-evil. Care to stay a while, angel?”

Aziraphale gave him that shy smile that signaled a successful temptation. The angel was always a tiny bit embarrassed when, upon giving in, he realized that he didn’t feel bad about it in the slightest.

* * *

Aziraphale sat at the edge of the fire light, not quite a part of the community, but not excluded from the festivities either. The humans knew he was somehow different, a magical elder-being of some kind, and so his presence was considered auspicious on a night like this. Nearer to the fire, people laughed, danced, drank and frequently toppled to the ground in an excess of… excess. Aziraphale watched their silhouettes against the bonfire and smiled from time to time like an indulgent parent. 

It was a night of celebration, a cross-quarter festival of fertility. Everyone was meant to enjoy themselves, and for the demon, that meant dancing to every squeal of the raucous, ridiculous, ear-splitting pipes. Crowley really loved that sound. He kept saying that it reminded him of a wild animal in heat, and the music was dissonant enough that his uncontrolled dancing didn’t seem out of place. He hadn’t expected Aziraphale to show up. As broad-minded as the angel had been about some aspects of paganism, he figured that Beltane would probably cross some very firm lines. Crowley had resolved to attend, however, cause some mischief and enjoy the music.

But Aziraphale had turned up anyway, and he had soon imbibed enough poitín that he was actually beginning to enjoy the painfully strong drink. He was watching Crowley and the humans together, puzzled and a little jealous of how easily he got on with them. As an angel, his role was mostly to observe, to appreciate the customs and passions of humans rather than join in them. Except for, well, he was certainly enjoying their liquor, so there was that. Crowley on the other hand, was laughing, teasing the women, and punching the occasional man good-naturedly in the shoulder. He danced with lads and lasses alike, enthusiastically, if not gracefully. 

They both loved humanity, but Aziraphale’s love was more philosophical in nature. He loved their potential, their thoughts and their words. Crowley’s love of people was a bit more direct and apparently more… physical. The angel sighed and took another burning swig of poitín. 

He wondered, now, why he’d come to the bonfire in the first place. It really wasn’t like him. He had to admit that he hadn’t been acting himself for the last few weeks. He’d been saying ‘yes’ a lot more, or at least, almost as much as he’d been saying ‘no’. He’d been laughing more… with Crowley. He’d been taking more walks, well, with Crowley. And he’d spent time watching and learning about all the villagers and then discussing them, also with Crowley. And now he was watching, if not exactly participating, in a fertility festival celebrating human lusts and passions. He wondered off-hand, how long it would be before his usual personality reasserted itself. Well, maybe the anxiety would hold off until Head-office remembered he existed and asked for a full report. 

For the moment though, Aziraphale could actually appreciate how happy everyone seemed. Especially the demon. He offered up a lonely toast to that and took several long swallows straight from the jug. When he came up for air, Crowley was peering at him from a distance. 

Suddenly, recognizing his angel in the semi-darkness, Crowley waved. Aziraphale half-stood to wave back with equal enthusiasm and wobbled backward, sitting down again, hard. The grassy slope was a little slippery.

Crowley looked around at the group of humans he’d been dancing with. With lusts running high, he’d expected to take credit for some pretty questionable behavior. But all that was going to happen anyway, and Crowley figured that he ought to be off the clock by now. Besides, Aziraphale was sitting by himself, and he could enjoy the music just as well from over there. Crowley ambled over to Aziraphale and collapsed bonelessly onto the grass next to him.

“Great party, huh?”

Aziraphale was sitting cross-legged, and he straightened himself slightly to compensate for Crowley’s near-horizontal slouch.

“Enough debauchery for you?” the angel asked good-naturedly.

“Certainly. But you said it yourself, no sin!”

Aziraphale looked over at Crowley, seeing him as if for the first time. His hair fell past his shoulders, several narrow braids of various sizes hanging down over the rest of the loose curls. At some point in the evening, he’d acquired a circlet of leaves and flowers. The May-crown was askew on his forehead, making him look startlingly innocent. His serpent eyes shone amber in the firelight, and without the glasses he seemed guileless, hiding nothing. Aziraphale could even imagine that Crowley himself was without sin in that moment, and he was so devastatingly beautiful that the angel had to look away.

Aziraphale considered saying… something… Nope. He was not nearly drunk enough. 

Instead he said, “If you’re having such a good time, you ought to get back out there and enjoy yourself.” He’d meant it to sound encouraging, but it came out rather curt.

“Oh, I’m definitely enjoying myself, right here,” the demon said casually. “I’m enjoying sitting here with you and… um… what _are_ you doing, angel?”

“Observing human nature.”

“Observing human nature!” Crowley repeated quickly, as if it was obvious. “That’s it. That’s what we’re doing! And there’s a fascinating bit of human nature taking place over there.” He pointed at two figures to the left of the bonfire.

Crowley had this strange ability to make Aziraphale feel like he was the only person in the world. No matter what other entertainments beckoned, when Crowley’s attention fell on Aziraphale, the demon seemed content to linger. He apparently found interest in any mundane occupation the angel suggested, from round after repetitive round of philosophy, to feeding birds, to eating sweets, to people watching. Crowley would always jump on board as if there was nowhere else he’d rather be. 

Aziraphale wondered whether everyone felt that way around Crowley. Was it just a skill that he’d honed to get humans to let their guards down around him? Was it an illusion created by the serpent’s manifold wiles? Well, whatever it was, it was certainly pleasant. 

Aziraphale couldn’t know it, but it was actually a whole lot simpler than that. In fact, there really _was_ nowhere else Crowley would rather be. 

The demon continued enthusiastically, “Those two are going to end up in a bed of heather and bracken, tonight! What do you want to bet?”

After a moment of thought, Aziraphale shook his head and said slowly, “Nooo. No, I just don’t think-“

Crowley cut him off, “Come on! Spare me the moral judgements, tonight especially!”

Aziraphale reddened and huffed, “I’m not! You. You! If you’d just listen, for once! I’m playing along, you idiot, if you _let _me!” 

Crowley was surprised at the rebuke, but delighted that Aziraphale was back-talking him. They were really well off the beaten path, weren’t they? He waited with polite deference till Aziraphale was ready to finish his thought. 

The angel made Crowley wait. He chose his words carefully, wanting to sound lucid, despite the quantity of alcohol in his system. “What I’m saying is… in my opinion, you are incorrect… in your assessment. That’s Niamh, and she is not interested in… that.”

“But that guy is a veritable romantic hero! The original warrior-poet, and he’s got his sights on her. It’s Beltane. Plus,” Crowley leaned closer and hid his mouth conspiratorially with his hand, “He’s hung like a horse!”

That should have gotten an embarrassed sputter out of Aziraphale, but he just waved it off. “That may be, but Niamh’s not going for that mountain of muscle.”

“Why do you say that?”

Aziraphale looked smug. “Just’s not, that’s all. See if you work it out for yourself.”

“I’m something of an expert, and I’d say the kilts are coming off tonight.”

Aziraphale took another drink and observed that there were fewer people than there had been at the start of the evening. They were slinking off discretely, in pairs. “Well, I thought that’s the point of tonight, after all.”

“What’ll you wager?” The angel frowned at that, because by now, he’d lost the thread of the conversation. “I mean,” Crowley clarified, “what’ll you wager against my horse?”

“Don’t think I’m supposed to. Um. We’ve nothing to bet. You know that.”

“Respect?” Crowley taunted. “For the better student of human nature?”

Aziraphale considered that, watching the way Crowley’s “horse” seemed to be leaning over the young woman. That was never going to work. “Fine,” He agreed. “You’re on.”

Crowley seemed delighted. He grabbed the clay jug from where it sat against Aziraphale’s hip, and lifted it in a toast, noticing as he did, that the jug was suspiciously light. He took a drink and began coughing like the fires of Hell were consuming his throat. Aziraphale smirked, grabbed the jug back and finished it off. 

As the jug was now empty, and the seduction of Niamh might take a while, Crowley waved down the brewer, Colm, who brought over a crate full of drinks. Crowley purchased a tankard of ale for himself and looked expectantly at Aziraphale. 

“How’s the poitín treating you?” Colm asked. 

“Well. I mean, it was. Until I finished it.” Aziraphale said, holding up the jug, and had the grace to look a little sheepish.

“You finished it?” The man was shocked for a moment, and then gave himself over to a huge belly-laugh. “That would have sent a mortal man to the other side or blinded him at least! If only all my customers were the fair folk, I’d have to build a bigger still!” He slapped his thigh and bellowed with mirth. 

Crowley laughed along with him, and Aziraphale sat there, awkward and out of his depth. “Your whiskey might as well be ewe’s milk, for all it affects the Children of Danu.” Crowley said grandly. “We’ve got ten-times stronger stuff where we come from. Bring my friend another!”

Colm seemed equally impressed by the demon’s silver tongue as he was by the angel’s liver. He pulled another clay jug out of the box and handed it to Aziraphale, clapping him heartily on the back for good measure. The impact caused Aziraphale to tilt dangerously to one side, and it took him several seconds to come back to center.

Then, looking at Crowley, Colm said “Keep an eye on this one, will you?”

“Always.” Crowley said simply.

The human left them, shaking his head. Crowley tried to sip his ale while sprawled horizontally on the grass and ended up spilling more than he drank. Aziraphale smirked, for though he was far drunker, he was still more upright, with more decorum than his companion.

“Don’t look so smug!” Crowley scolded as he was forced to sit up at Aziraphale’s side.

After a pause, the angel said, “I’ve been meaning to ask, what happened to your…” He drew two circles with his finger, in the direction of Crowley’s uncovered face. Then, tapped his own eyebrow for clarity.

Crowley immediately tensed up. “Why? Want me to put ‘em back?”

“No!” Aziraphale said quickly. How could he explain? “It’s… nice.”

Crowley studied Aziraphale for a moment and found nothing but guileless, drunken fondness. “There just didn’t seem to be much point here,” he explained. “So, I haven’t bothered wearing them.”

“Well good for you!”

“You think?” He seemed to be asking for Aziraphale’s approval, and for a moment, he looked very young. The wreath of flowers added to the effect.

“Of course!” the angel said, trying to think of words to put Crowley back at his ease. “I like… when I can see your eyes… and, well, to be sure you’re not pulling one over on me. Plus, these people certainly don’t care!”

“Yeah, isn’t it great?” Crowley laughed and took another long drink. “These humans don’t even think it’s odd to have shape changing immortals hanging about! They look at my eyes, and go, ‘Hey, you must be a snake with magical powers. Have another ale!’ It’s brilliant!”

“Same with me! Nobody thinks: God’s messenger. No one’s in awe of me, shrinking from my judgement. They just keep asking me to tell them stories about the under-world.”

“That’s what they’re asking _you?_” Crowley covered his face with his hand and laughed. Being an actual denizen of the underworld, the demon found that hilarious. 

Finally, Aziraphale tried to change the subject. “They do love their stories.”

“Oh, Tighe told me one about a shape-changing druid the other day. I think he was trying to get me to show off. Hoping I’d turn into a snake for his amusement.”

Aziraphale gasped, “You didn’t!” 

“Course not! Some things are better left to the imagination.” Then, Crowley elbowed the angel in the side and pointed back at the party. He indicated the muscle-bound young man from earlier, now vigorously groping a young woman’s bottom. “See? Now we’re getting somewhere!”

“Sure. But that’s not Niamh.”

Crowley frowned and squinted, trying to make out her features. “The night’s still young,” he grumbled.

“Why don’t you tell me that story to pass the time?”

“What story?”

“The one you said… about the druid who turns into a snake!”

Crowley seemed delighted at the suggestion. “Not just a snake, any animal he wanted. All the animals!” He straightened his crown and re-told the story, as well as he could remember it.

While he spoke, Aziraphale leaned closer, his chin resting in his hand. He liked the way Crowley sort of wiggled with enthusiasm, gesturing broadly to punctuate his words. 

A Truth came to Aziraphale then, and his mind wandered away from the story. What a strange realization it was. Aziraphale was usually a big proponent of telling the Truth, but this Truth seemed almost like a secret. Was it something he should say?

Crowley got to the good bit. “And every shape the boy took, the druid pursued him, shape shifting into the predator of every animal he tried. The kid turned into a mouse; the druid turned into a snake. The kid turned into a bird, the druid turned into a hawk. Kid became a fish, and he became a bear… and so on and,” Crowley stumbled a bit. “Well, probably, so on and on.”

Bringing himself back to the story, Aziraphale tried to make sense of it. “So, the druid was evil, then?

“No, course not!” Crowley sounded exasperated.

“But… he’s chasing the boy all over the countryside, trying to eat him!”

“You really don’t get it do you? These people aren’t into evil! There was a reason for it. Once the boy had been every animal and knew what it was like to be prey to every other animal, then he was wise enough to be a great chief or hero or whatever!”

“So, he escaped?” Aziraphale asked, rather jumping ahead.

“Yeah.” Crowley realized he didn’t really know how to end it. “And, you know, became a great chief or hero or whatever.”

Luckily, Aziraphale was too drunk to be critical of anyone’s storytelling ability. “I like that.” He said softly.

“Me too,” Crowley agreed. “Now, where’s that Niamh?”

“Sitting with her friend, like I said.” Aziraphale nursed his drink and didn’t even bother to point them out. 

Crowley eventually spotted two young women sitting across the fire from them. They were leaning on each other, shoulder to shoulder. Niamh had an arm around her friend and was running her fingers through her hair. 

“Friend.” the demon mused and glanced down at little space of ground between him and Aziraphale. “Right. So that’s what you were getting at?” 

The angel hummed into his bottle. “Muscles didn’t have a chance. There’s already one whose company she prefers… above all others.”

Crowley nodded thoughtfully. That was definitely something he understood, but he was surprised that Aziraphale had picked up on it first. Niamh’s friend whispered something in her ear, and the two of them fell backward, giggling, into the grass. 

As the two forms became indistinguishable from each other, both angel and demon gasped for a little breath that neither of them strictly needed.

“You win.” Crowley said in a tight voice. “A regular scholar of human nature, you.”

“Sorry.” Aziraphale didn’t know what he was apologizing for.

“Don’t be. I always support a bit of lust. Have they, uh, been together long?”

“By human standards. And friends for longer still.”

The two figures rolled apart, and one pulled the other hurriedly to standing. Aziraphale and Crowley watched as the two young women headed into the woods, hand in hand. 

Aziraphale slammed his jug of drink onto the grass next to him and tried to lounge more comfortably. He tried to lean on his side, but he found himself kinked in the middle. He tried to prop his head in his hand but overbalanced and ended up more or less on his stomach in the grass. He looked up hopefully, to see if laying on one’s stomach would appear casual enough. But judging from the height of Crowley’s eyebrows on his forehead, this position wasn’t having the desired effect. So Aziraphale thought better of the whole thing, and he went back to sitting up straight. 

All the while, Crowley just waited for the dramatic repositioning to conclude. He had to scowl quite hard to keep from laughing.

When the angel was once again cross-legged, his back stiff as always, Crowley hazarded to comment. “Better now?”

“Yes… no.” Aziraphale summarized. “There’s something I want to tell you. But before… you have to promise.”

“I promise.” Crowley said swiftly, with absolute sincerity.

“You don’t even know what you’re promising!”

“Doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, you have my word.” Something in his eyes made the bottom drop out of Aziraphale’s chest.

“You’re a demon.” He pointed out, helpfully.

“Yes. Thanks.” Crowley muttered. “Then, why ask me to promise anything if a demon’s word means nothing?” It was entierly possible that ‘you’re a demon’ was all Aziraphale had wanted to say.

There had been such warmth there a moment ago, but now Crowley had retreated. Aziraphale felt bereft. “Wait. Don’t. Let’s go back.”

“Well, just tell me what I’m promising, then, so I can promise properly. Or I’ll just conclude you’re too drunk to have this conversation, and I’ll go to bed.”

“No. Crowley, this is important.”

“Ok.” He sounded unconvinced.

“Promise me you won’t tell a soul.”

Crowley gave this due consideration, before saying solemnly, “I promise.”

That was Aziraphale’s cue. There would be no more stalling. Here was where he had to get up the courage to say the Truth. But what had been clear to him a moment ago, was now muddy with anxiety. He was certain he was going to say it wrong. Gabriel’s face popped into his mind just then and added a whole layer of guilt to his already confused thoughts. 

What if they found out? What would be his excuse? _Um, the demon was wearing a crown of pretty flowers at the time, and I couldn’t help myself?_

Crowley was waiting, always patient. Aziraphale tried to focus and gather his thoughts. 

Crowley was… patient, clever, and took him seriously (or at least as seriously as the demon took anything). His conversation was endlessly fascinating, by turns fickle, sarcastic and sincere. And then there was Crowley’s mouth. He’d never met anyone who’s lips were so expressive. Like just now, you could read his skepticism, curiosity and a bit of concern in the set of Crowley’s mouth. His eyes, uncovered as they were… were…

Suddenly, Aziraphale knew what he had to say. His intended words sliced decisively through the anxiety. He was really going to say it.

He drew breath and said firmly, “I find… I quite enjoy your company!” There. He’d said it.

Crowley blinked, stunned. It was somehow both more and less than he’d expected. Less than the build up had made it seem, but more than he would have hoped for. 

Aziraphale held his gaze for a moment longer, and then looked determinedly down at his lap. The angel’s shyness made the statement seem weightier. There was music playing still, and the majority of the villagers were somewhere out of sight, making the most of the night.

Unfortunately, the angel’s slight admission sounded positively sinful to Crowley’s ears. How did “enjoy your company” come off as the most romantic, nay, almost downright filthy thing Crowley had ever heard? He was suddenly even more embarrassed than Aziraphale seemed to be. 

Why on earth would such an innocent admission, such a piss-poor revelation, get Crowley’s corporeal form so worked up? He cursed his traitorous body for complicating a perfectly lovely evening. Maybe it was the humans’ fault, too many pheromones, too many flowers.

“You won’t tell anyone?” Aziraphale ask anxiously. 

“C’mon angel!” Crowley exclaimed, trying to startle his body back into working properly. “Who do you think I’m gonna tell?” Especially, he thought, since any recounting of what Aziraphale had said might lead to some incriminating conclusions about how he’d _reacted_ to hearing it. “It’s not like I’m going to tell our bosses. And our friends here, well, they probably already know we enjoy each other’s company!”

“We?” Aziraphale was delighted that Crowley had made it plural. But then he realized, belatedly what Crowley had meant. “Wait… You think the humans _know_?”

“Angel, they’re pretty intuitive.

“More intuitive than Head Office?”

“Definitely. Astronomically, more so!” The molten emotion that has coursed through his whole body was starting to subside a little, so his teasing tone came back. “This is a pretty good secret, though. Are you sure there’s no one I can tell?”

Aziraphale gasped, horrified. “But, you promised!”

“What about you?” Crowley asked. “Can I tell you about it? Tomorrow, maybe?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Heaven’s no! You’d better not tell me.”

Crowley pouted. “Don’t think you’d understand?”

“You know what a prude I can be. I’d be all scandalized and probably very rude. Maybe get us into even more trouble.”

“So, I guess we better keep you out of the loop on this one.”

“Exactly.”

“And this secret is just between me… and me.”

“Now, you’ve got it!”

“Ok angel. Whatever you say. Maybe it’s better that way. Anyway, it’s late.” Crowley rubbed his hands over his face and was surprised to feel the circlet of flowers. He pulled it off and looked at it, his mouth twisting in irony.

“It’s pretty.” Aziraphale said.

Crowley stood up, towering over the angel, who made no move to rise. He looked at the crown and then placed it lightly on the angel’s blond curls. He stood back and regarded him, considering the effect. 

“Yep.” He said, satisfied. 

Crowley swayed, a little unsteadily, back to the village. Aziraphale remained by the bonfire until it turned to embers. 

While he was still drunk, and before he could inform his traitorous self what had transpired, Aziraphale let himself admit that it had been a lovely evening.

* * *

It had been nice to pretend that their time in Ireland was something of a holiday, a vacation from themselves. Aziraphale hadn’t spoken about his assignment, or thought much about it either, so when the day arrived, it was a bit of a shock to the system. 

He was having breakfast with the family who owned the barn they’d been staying in. Out of the blue, he heard the sound of a harp being strummed, and then Gabriel’s authoritative voice said, “This is just a friendly reminder that you are scheduled to be somewhere in one hour.” 

Aziraphale dropped his spoon full of porridge. “Oh my. Yes, of course. Certainly. I’m on it.” He sputtered before he realized that the voice had been nothing but a pre-recorded message. The humans looked at him wonderingly, since they clearly hadn’t heard the voice that had been intended only for Aziraphale. “Um. Sorry. I… uh… The… well, I suppose… the King of the Faeries, um, just reminded me of something. Something I need to be doing. Thank you for your hospitality. I think I had better go.”

Aiofe, laid her hand protectively on her little daughter’s shoulder. She was a wary of the implied _presence_ in her home. But when it became clear that their guest was leaving, she managed, “We’ve been blessed to have your company. Good fortune be with you, wherever you go.”

As Aziraphale rose from the table, Donnchadh stood up beside him and clasped him by the shoulders. “And, friend Aziraphale… don’t let Himself boss you around, too much.” He raised his brows and pointed sky-wards. “You’ve a kind spirit, and I’d guess you’ve also got powers enough to stand your ground.” Donnchadh winked.

It took only moments for Aziraphale to gather his few belongings from the rafters. He made his way out of the village, on foot at first, so as not to attract as much attention. A few humans waved at him as he passed, but no one questioned the comings and goings of one such as him. It would have been harder to leave if Crowley were around, but the demon was nowhere to be found. 

It took most of the hour for Aziraphale, quite out of breath, to reach the crest of the hill. He sent a blessing down on the people of the village, and once he was out of sight, he miracled himself all the way to the north coast, right where he needed to be.

He decided to start out strong. “Be not afraid!” Aziraphale said as he materialized on the beach. Though, in his experience, no one had ever expressed any fear upon encountering his cheerful, well-fed form. Still, this was an important mission, and the formality ought to impress Gabriel. 

Before him, a dozen or so humans were gathered. Some were collapsed, dripping with sea water and sputtering for breath. Some were frantically tying a small boat to the rocks. The rest were waist-deep in the water, dragging a second, larger, boat up onto the shore. Crowley was with them, pulling hard on the ropes and obviously helping.

Was it possible that the two of them had the same assignment? Maybe Crowley hadn’t followed Aziraphale after all, but was, like him, biding him time until this moment. That was a bitter thought. Maybe Crowley was a more devoted operative of Hell than Aziraphale had realized. All those walks together, and the demon had never mentioned his assignment. Well, neither had the angel, he supposed. It seemed ridiculous that they’d been so close in recent weeks, and neither of them had let anything slip.

Apparently, Aziraphale was out of practice being awe-inspiring, because the demon was the only one who noticed his angelic grand entrance. Crowley looked over his shoulder, saw the angel, and cursed quietly under his breath before focusing his attention back on the boat.

Naturally cautious, Aziraphale spent the next few minutes taking stock of the situation. The man with the shiny robes was probably Patrick, and he was the reason for the assignment. He was just as soaked and bedraggled as the rest of them, but he was shouting orders as he leaned into the hull of the boat. There was an unmistakable air of authority around the man. Crowley had positioned himself at Patrick’s side. The rest of the men were all obviously sailors and priests, and Crowley was, by his clothes, neither of those. But he looked the picture of a Good Samaritan, jumping in to lend a hand in their time of need. _What was he up to?_ Aziraphale was immediately suspicious. 

Once they grounded the boat on the beach, several more of the men collapsed in exhaustion. Aziraphale could hear their prayers of thanks. It must have been a harrowing journey, and the beach in this area didn’t seem like the best place to come ashore. He must have just missed a rather desperate scene. 

Patrick extended a hand to Crowley and thanked him, stiffly. Crowley took the proffered hand, but then pulled the man into a hearty embrace. He withdrew a flask from somewhere and offered Patrick a drink. Patrick waved it away, haughtily, so Crowley handed it to the second-mate, saying, “Drink up! The finest poitín in the country. You deserve it after what you’ve been through.” Aziraphale’s heart sank when he recognized Crowley’s wiles at work. The demon nudged the man and added, “Pass it around!” Then, raising his voice, Crowley said, “Welcome to Ireland, where they offer only the best to their guests! There’s a fishing village not far from here, where you’ll find rest, food, drink… the finest music I swear you’ve _ever _heard! They have these pipes… Not to mention, good company!” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

“No, thank you.” Patrick said firmly, and his men visibly deflated. “We plan to camp on the beach and spend this night in prayer.”

Crowley smoothly switched gears, “I can see you’re a deeply spiritual man. I, myself, love a good philosophical discussion. Mind if I join you? Tomorrow, I’ll take you into town and introduce you around.”

Aziraphale chose this moment to disrupt the temptation in progress. He came bustling down the beach, hands extended toward Patrick. “Hello.” He said with his usual cheerfulness, “Reverend Father Patricius, I presume.”

“How do you know my name?” Patrick was feeling a bit put-upon by these over effusive strangers and was steadily becoming more and more on his guard.

“I’m a representative of your God,” Aziraphale replied, “and I’m here to guide and assist you.”

“We need no assistance, from either of you!” Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged grumpy glances, since they were now positioned firmly in each other’s way. “We are here to do the Lord’s work,” Patrick was saying. “His is the only assistance we need.”

“Ah, yes. The Lord’s work! But, don’t you see, that’s why I’m here? Your mission on this island is blessed in the sight of Heaven. I can be of some help, and I actually have some ideas of how you might build upon what these people already-“

“Silence!” Patrick commanded.

Aside, Crowley muttered, “I guess he’s not into your _ideas_, angel.”

“Then, um… Alright.” Aziraphale reached out both his hands again. “Please take my most holy blessing, then, and I’ll just be on my way.”

Patrick swatted Aziraphale’s hands away, making contact with a loud smack.

“Hey!” Crowley exclaimed, and grabbed Patrick’s wrist with a lightning-fast reflex. He stepped between the man and the angel, his original mission quite forgotten. “Mind yourself, priest. Don’t make him reconsider casting pearls before swine.” 

Patrick crossed himself with his free hand. “What manner of beings are you?”

Crowley dropped the man’s wrist again, knowing that the speed of his moment had given him away. Crowley drew himself up proudly, and gave an answer that left Aziraphale gaping. “We are the Tuatha Dé Danann, the Ever-Living Ones, and protectors of this land. What are your intentions?”

“I am on a holy mission, and I don’t answer to you! It is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.” 

“What my friend means-“ Aziraphale attempted to intercede before a fight broke out.

Crowley didn’t appreciate the interference, “What I _mean_ is: this land is sacred and these people are about as pious as humans really ever should be. I won’t have you buggering it up!” 

Patrick snapped his fingers at young curate, and the boy placed a long scepter into the priest’s hand. He held it up protectively, as he took a step closer and peered in Crowley’s face. Without his glasses, Crowley felt extremely exposed, but nonetheless, he managed to stare Patrick down. 

In Latin, the man muttered “_Diabolus_…”

Aziraphale felt chills rush down his spine. This didn’t bode well for _either_ of their purposes. 

There was strength in Crowley’s voice as he corrected Patrick. “No. Actually, the word you want is _Unseelie. _Forces of chaos, temptation, lawless pleasure and all that. Also, luring travelers into the bog to see them wet their feet!” He bared a toothy grin. 

The angel had never heard a more perfect description of Crowley. Aziraphale was struck by how thoroughly his friend seemed to have assimilated the local mythology and fitted himself into it. In just a few weeks, he’d apparently gone a bit native. Aziraphale had to admit that calling Crowley an unseelie faerie might be more fitting than “demon”, after all.

Patrick stepped back, straightening his robes. “Well, then, who’s he?” He jerked his chin at Aziraphale.

The angel stepped forward, about to say something grand, but Crowley was quicker. “Oh him? He’s the Seelie one, of course! Summer to my winter. Day to my night.”

“I see through you!” Patrick growled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you were the cause of the waves that near capsized us, before we could come ashore.” 

Well, that was the first thing Aziraphale had heard that actually made some sense. The angel tutted reprovingly and gave Crowley a withering look. 

“I know what you are!” Patrick spat. “It doesn’t matter what you call yourself!”

“I don’t call myself!” Crowley said. “These Irish do. Nice of them, really. And in return, let them keep their little Gods.”

Aziraphale found a chink in the conversation and hurried to address Patrick in reasonable tones. “Surely, you’re a man of faith, as am I. Noble as it is to want to share God’s Love with the people of this island, we just want you to understand the… the landscape, as it were. You could learn a lot from the faith these people already possess.”

“They are heathens! They will come to know the Word, or they will burn.”

This shocked the angel, and his hand flew to his breast. “Figuratively, I hope!” Aziraphale gasped.

“No guarantee of that.” Crowley whispered back, under his breath.

Aziraphale continued, hopefully. “You wouldn’t! Surely you won’t. Listen. In Heaven’s name, come with me and let me show you how their Druids worship God’s works. Break bread with these people and learn their stories. You’ll find a magic that should, by rights, be _incorporated-“_

“You will not dissuade me!” Patrick shouted. “I will not be so easily turned from my purpose. I don’t know what _you_ are, but you can’t stop me from smiting the devil that stands at your side.”

Crowley snorted, loudly. “You wish!”

“By the grace of God, I have been granted _powers_.” Patrick said, ominously and pointed the crook of his crosier at Crowley. “You are not what you appear to be, and the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness of men, who by their unrighteousness suppress the TRUTH.” 

Before the demon could get another word out, his form began to shift like sand. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale gasped in horror. Until that moment, he had not believed this human posed any kind of threat to them, but suddenly, his friend appeared to be discorporating before his eyes. A million black grains of sand fell from Crowley’s height, and spilled on the earth before coalescing once more in the shape of a huge snake. Aziraphale hadn’t seen Crowley in his snake form since the Garden, more than 4,000 years ago, but he recognized him instantly. The angel dropped to his knees to make sure the demon was otherwise unharmed. 

After a moment of disorientation, the snake hissed and reared up, ready to strike out at the priest. Aziraphale laid both hands on Crowley’s back, and the snake paused, twisting his neck to look up. Even without human features, those yellow eyes were more than expressive enough to communicate, _Let me at him! _

“He’s not worth it, dear,” the angel explained, stroking the silky-cool scales. “We already know this is part of the Plan.” At the mention of God’s Plan, the serpent hissed right in Aziraphale’s face. “Now, don’t be like that! It’s no use getting destroyed over this. He’s more powerful than we thought.”

Patrick laughed, a mirthless sound. “The Word of the Lord gives me the strength to uncover evil in all its guises!” He was obviously quite impressed with himself. 

“Careful,” Aziraphale cautioned the man. “You’re treading awfully close to Pride, my son. Willfully ignoring the advice of an angel and infuriating a demon all in one day! Perhaps we should all just-“

But, drunk on his own power, Patrick wasn’t finished yet. He stretched his arms wide and gave the impression of one trying to call forth lightning from the sky. The sky did appear to be darkening. The other humans drew away from him and some fell to their knees in awe. “I have come to banish evil from this land!” He boomed. “You will be the first, serpent. You and all your kind!” 

Angel and snake both stared, incredulous. Aziraphale murmured, “Rather presumptuous, wouldn’t you say?”

The priest took no notice and began once again quoting scripture, his voice growing louder upon each word. “For this very purpose he has raised me up… I will banish the snakes from this land, that the Lord may show His power in Me… and that My name may be declared in all the earth!” Aziraphale scrunched his nose in distaste, as Patrick had rather garbled that last Bible passage. But he punctuated his words by striking his crosier into the ground, and a little tremor disturbed the earth below their feet.

Crowley’s fluid spine bucked under Aziraphale’s hands, as if he’d forgotten his snake form wasn’t made to jump. He began to writhe crazily, twisting, trying to fold himself in every direction at once. Aziraphale couldn’t see what was tormenting him, but it occurred to him that the few times Crowley had walked unknowingly on consecrated ground, the effect had been similar. The earth was burning him, and he was in full contact with it along his entire snaky length. Aziraphale reached out to him, but the demon was in too much pain to notice. 

So Aziraphale thrust his fingers blindly into the twisting length of snake, “Quick now!” 

Crowley took the offered lifeline and slipped over the angel’s hands, rushing up his arms and looping himself across his shoulders at lightning speed. He was quite an extraordinarily long snake, and he had looped three times around Aziraphale’s middle before he was entirely out of contact with the ground. Crowley tucked his head in crook of the angel’s neck, and the two of them breathed a single sigh of relief. 

Patrick’s eyes were dark and proud. “You see? Even the demons do believe and shudder.”

Aziraphale straightened himself and looked the man right in the eyes. He’d had just about enough of this, so in sudden decision, he unfurled his wings and let his halo shine forth with the brilliance of a hundred suns. He appeared much taller than he had only a moment ago, and the black snake still wrapped around his glowing white form seemed smaller by comparison. There could be no doubt in anyone’s mind that they were in the presence of an Angel, God’s messenger, and possibly God’s wrath, incarnate.

Aziraphale summoned up the Voice. “HEAR ME. ALL THOSE WITHIN THE SOUND OF MY VOICE, YOU ARE DESTINED TO BRING ABOUT A GREAT CHANGE FOR THE PEOPLE OF THIS ISLAND. BE KIND, (AND FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE DON’T GO AROUND BURNING PEOPLE!) I CHARGE YOU TO LEARN FROM THEM AS MUCH AS YOU WOULD TEACH. I CHARGE YOU TO LISTEN AS MUCH AS YOU WOULD SPEAK. AND WRITE DOWN THEIR STORIES AND TALES WITH ALL THE CARE YOU WOULD GIVE THE WORD OF GOD. FOR THE BREATH OF GOD IS ALREADY IN THESE PEOPLE, AND IT IS UP TO YOU TO PRESERVE IT. I AM HEAVEN’S MESSENGER AND I SAY… THOUGH THIS CULTURE MAY CHANGE, IT SHALL NOT BE LOST. 

AND PATRICK. YOU, WHO WILL ONE DAY BE CALLED ‘SAINT’. IF YOU EVER WISH TO BE WORTHY OF THAT TITLE, HEAR ME. YOUR FIRST ACT IN THIS LAND HAS BEEN ONE OF PRIDE AND FEAR. KNOCK IT OFF, AND GET THINE HEAD OUT OF THINE ASS!”

Patrick fell upon his face in the sand. 

Satisfied, Aziraphale folded up his wings and let the angelic light ebb away. He let out a smug little “hmmph”, a sentiment the snake echoed with a tiny bob of its head. Then he turned and stalked away, never looking back.

* * *

Aziraphale walked, carrying an enormous snake, until the offending humans and even the ocean were long out of sight. As he walked, the angel grumbled to himself, “The nerve!” and “Calls himself a man of God!” and “Insolent little…” He’d been heading vaguely in the direction of a set of three standing stones, visible on the next rise.

At some point, a thought occurred to him. “Do you think there were other snakes around here?” The snake that was Crowley remained moodily silent. “I hadn’t seen any… but you never know. I wonder what’s happened to them. Oh, the poor dears!”

When he finally made it to the stones, Aziraphale leaned heavily on the tallest one. Vertical runes were inscribed down its length, and he ran his hand over the marks. They glowed briefly, under his touch. “There.” He said, half to himself. “That’ll stay.”

He tried to see Crowley’s face, though he had to crane his neck and go slightly cross-eyed to get a look at him. “You’re damnably heavy, you know that?” By undulating slightly, all down his length, Crowley was able to stretch himself out past Aziraphale’s shoulder, so they could regard each other. 

“Can you talk when you’re in this shape?”

The snake’s tongue flickered in the air, and for a moment, Aziraphale thought that might be all the response he was going to get. 

“Not quite the sssame… but yesss.” Crowley replied. It sounded almost like Crowley’s voice, only breathier, and the consonants were a bit odd.

“Well, then, why in Heaven won’t you talk to me?” Aziraphale huffed, sounding put out and rather sad. “If I’m going to carry you around, the least you can do is keep me company!”

“Embarasssed,” Crowley managed, and then he looked away.

“Oh.” They both looked out over the rolling green hills and wondered whether Crowley would ever be able to set foot on them again. Aziraphale supposed there were quite a few things Crowley could have been embarrassed about; being transformed and exiled by a snot-nosed priest, for starters. He figured it was best not to address that, so he decided to try a little flattery. “I’ve always thought you were a lovely snake.” Crowley regarded him skeptically with one yellow eye. “Thought so since the Garden. I remember thinking God had a real artistic flair with Her creatures!”

“Not Her creature.” Crowley objected. “What if… I’m sssstuck like thisss?”

“You can’t change back?”

“I tried. Ssstuck.”

With a pang, Aziraphale found himself missing the demon’s cheeky grin. “Don’t worry,” he answered, patting the coil of the serpent’s body where it looped below his ribs. “We’ll get you sorted out. We just have to get off this island and out of range.”

“I hate that bassstard.” Crowley grumbled.

“Me too.” Then, Aziraphale clapped a hand over his mouth, realizing that he’d just admitted to a very un-angelic emotion. He scrambled in his mind for any legitimate reason to hate a man who would eventually be called a saint. “Well, for the sake of all the other _innocent_ snakes, of course.”

“Of courssse. Ssstill think thisss is all Her plan?”

“Certainly.” Aziraphale shrugged awkwardly under pounds of snake. “And while I support it in principle… in practice, I’m less than impressed with the human She picked to do Her work in this case.”

“You know,” Crowley reflected, shaking his head, “it’s really ssstarting to feel a bit… persssonal. This may be Her Plan, but you carrying me around like a pet, wasssn’t mine.” After a moment of silence, he said “I was supposed to ssstop him. Couldn’t.”

“And I was supposed to help him. Though, clearly, I didn’t.”

“Yesss, but you didn’t also get your arse handed to you.”

Crowley’s pride was wounded, yes, but Aziraphale began to worry that he might also be in trouble. Even though Crowley usually made a show of shrugging off his superiors, Aziraphale was suddenly afraid for him. “You should tell your bosses that you were _thwarted _by a formidable angel.”

Crowley seemed to perk up a bit. “By that mad bastard with the flaming sssword?” 

“Yes. That one.”

“I never ssstand a chance with that one.” The snaky voice was full of fondness. “And you. Better tell them you had your handsss full with a very menacing demon.”

“Oh, yes. Hands full.” Aziraphale agreed, and folded his hands below Crowley’s bottom-most coil.

“Tell ‘em you sssmote him right back to ssserpent form and banished him and all hisss kind off of thisss little rock, never to ssset foot… uh, belly… here, ever again.”

Aziraphale sighed. He didn’t really want credit for that, but it was probably what he’d end up putting in his report all the same. “I bet our reports would be interesting to compare side by side. Not that anybody ever would.”

“Ha! Good thought. They’d be mirror opposssites of each other.” Crowley spoke slowly as his mind whirled with new ideas. “It’sss like we cancel each other out, isn’t it? You and me, we’re balancing either ssside of the equation.”

This made Aziraphale immediately uncomfortable, though he couldn’t have said why. “You know I’m not much for maths, Crowley.”

“Jussst thinking.”

“About what?”

“Getting away with thingsss, mostly… Working together.”

Aziraphale felt a little flutter in his heart, like a premonition of something. “Need I remind you? We don’t work _together_. We work _against_ each other.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said sarcastically. “I can really tell.”

Aziraphale elected to change the subject. “Where should we go now?”

Crowley sighed. “Wherever you want, angel. Look at me! I’m at your disssposal.”

Aziraphale watched the sky change, painting the landscape with beams of sunlight and the moving shadows of clouds.

“I’m sorry we have to leave Ireland like this, though. It was nice, while it lasted.”

“Yeah. Debauchery, without guilt. Usss just hanging out.” Crowley laid the side of his face against Aziraphale’s throat. “For a while, anyway. But I could have told you, sssin reasssserts itself. It wasss… only a matter of time.” 

“Ah, so it’s time to bring back the grumpy demon.”

“And the angel with a ssstick up his arssse! Back to being adversssaries, then.” Crowley sounded resigned.

Aziraphale hugged himself, and by extension, the serpent wrapped around his torso. “What happened to ‘summer to your winter’, ‘day to your night’ and all that?”

“Think that’ll hold up… back in the ssssivilized world? Need I remind you,” Crowley mocked, “We work _against_ each other? Come on, angel… just miracle us sssomewhere elssse… Ssso we can get back to work.”

Aziraphale sighed at the green hills. The color was so impossibly brilliant; no where else in the whole world had green like this. That color was a balm to the spirit, unless you were leaving it behind.

“All that Voice of Power and getting all smitey, rather wore me out.” Aziraphale commented to himself. The snake was quiet, listening to the familiar sound of an angel slowly winding himself up to justify something. “And, you know, I’ve always been a traditionalist at heart. Why take a short-cut, when you can do it the old-fashioned way, eh?”

“Angel…”

“Plus, you’re really not all that heavy. Maybe we can make it to the Eastern sea, and it will be a much shorter miracle, from there. I’d like to see a bit more of the countryside. And we’ll probably come across some more stones, and I can bless those too, so the magic will last. We’ve got _two_ good feet between us.”

“Angel…”

“Maybe there’s a silver lining in this Plan after all.” He lifted Crowley’s chin with the back of his fingers, positioning the serpent’s face, so they were looking eye to eye. “Any objections?”

“I guesss not.” Crowley flicked his tongue at the tip of Aziraphale’s nose, barely tickling. “Just don’t tell Azzziraphale… whenever he showsss back up!”

Aziraphale booped the snake’s snout in response and started walking again with renewed energy. “I suppose we’ll have to entertain each other then, won’t we? Why don’t you tell me another of those stories you’ve collected? Preferably about those faeries of chaos you were on about."

**Author's Note:**

> This took me forever to write, because I meant it so much! 
> 
> Ireland is my spiritual home, and I hope I did it justice. Even today... I've found the landscape, the hospitality, the music, the dramatic weather and yes, even the earth worship are much the same. Despite being well and truly Christianized, that original spark and the stories remain. It's a miracle, in my opinion, that the pagan mythology was preserved so well. It was all written down for posterity, right alongside the books of the Bible. Thanks, Aziraphale! 
> 
> By the way... In case you were curious, the angel didn't have many belongings to take with him when he left the village. All he packed was some of that tasty brown bread and a small wreath of flowers, carefully preserved. 
> 
> Please leave comments! Pretty, please?


End file.
